No Fury
by danger.angel
Summary: After a round of cheating and lying, no one is safe.


**No Fury**

**i.**

There was a distinct advantage, Angelina found, in not being wholly English. While she knew that a quick flick of wrist was all that was needed when casting the Cruciatus Curse, she also knew that a concoction of rose oil mixed with honey-laced milk smeared on the body with the petals of a hibiscus flower would guarantee that she would hold the attention of any man she came within a few feet of. The same brew smeared on the lips would guarantee that any man she kissed would be in her thrall. He would give himself to her wholly and completely, damning himself with a smile.

Her cousin, Jeremy, had once come under the influence of the potion. Number Nine, they called it in Britain. It sounded like a Muggle street drug more than anything. When Angelina asked him what it felt like, he shook his head and grinned.

"It's not like anything I've ever experienced before," he said. Jeremy was an attractive professional Quidditch player and had been under the influence of just about every love potion known to the British Ministry of Magic. There was a running joke in the family about the next bint he'd show up with at Christmas, claiming true love when he couldn't even get her name right.

"There's none of that hazy dream-like feeling," Jeremy told her. "You feel completely lucid during and after. You can recall everything clear as day. That's why after being affected most people think they've experienced something like momentary insanity. It doesn't feel like you're being controlled. That's why it's so dangerous. There's a reason the Ministry has strict rules about foreign magic."

Angelina snorted. "Why bother with regulations when you couldn't even recognize what you were regulating if it came and smacked you in the face?"

Jeremy laughed, baring his perfect white teeth. "Illusions of safety. We all need them."

**ii.**

What made Fred Weasley feel safe? Was it his shop? His little inventions? Or was it his family? No, not them. As much as Fred claimed to love his parents and siblings his actions spoke volumes. Last year he and George had sent Percy a birthday card charmed to explode upon opening. Mrs. Weasley had taken to her bed for two days because of the scathing response Percy had sent her when she tried to apologize for the twin's behaviour. Angelina had chided Fred on many occasions about his treatment of Ron. It was only a matter of time before the youngest Weasley boy showed his older brothers how much he'd learned while fighting Death Eaters and Dark Lords. The thought of Fred staring slack-jawed as green light enveloped him made Angelina smirk.

"Are you going to buy anything?"

Angelina clenched her jaws and fists, counting to ten. She could imagine Verity behind her, leaning against the counter, wearing her usual bored-twenty-something-too-cool-to-even-smile expression. She only wore it whenever Fred and George were not in the shop. When they were she was like an eager hippogriff, ready for a treat. "Yes, Mr. Weasley," she'd say with a simpering smile. "Oh, no, I don't mind, Mr. Weasley. I'll get on it right away." She would've been pathetic if she weren't so effective. Angelina had come across too many girls like her. Shopgirls one night and the missus the next morning.

If it weren't for the simple band of gold around Angelina's finger Verity might've been planning her wedding. But who was to say she wasn't already doing that? The ring was a hindrance but it certainly didn't scare the other woman. It was a pre-engagement ring, according to Fred. It was enough to shut Angelina up and enough for him to feel relatively safe and uncommitted.

"Fred's not here, you know," Verity said, not bothering to mask her annoyance.

Angelina hated the sound of her voice. When Verity screamed she sounded like a kneazle giving birth. "Oh, Mr. Weasley! Yes, right there, Mr. Weasley!" Angelina had given better performances in her sleep. Either Fred's ego hadn't allowed him to realize she was exaggerating or possibly faking, or he didn't care. Either way, he'd fucked her and was due for a comeuppance.

"He's probably not going to be back for a long time so there's no point in hanging about," Verity continued.

A sharp look from Angelina didn't phase the other woman. She was a lot more stupid than Angelina realized. The time of pleasantries between them had come and gone. Angelina knew what went on between her boyfriend and his employee in the back rooms and Verity was aware she knew. Verity thought it was a contest between them. Fred would choose the winner and the prize would be to become Mrs. Fred Weasley, entitled to money, fame, and power. Those three things Angelina already had, and Fred she no longer wanted. Verity could have him, but not whole.

**iii.**

George.

The moment Angelina saw him she knew only to act, the plan forming itself organically in the back of her mind. She watched him enter the men's lavatory in the Leaky Cauldron and waited a few minutes before walking towards it. She couldn't have timed it better. As George was leaving the lavatory, she rushed towards him. Their bodies collided and there were the usual apologies before he realized it was her. He flushed and looked away, his guilt evident. Of course he knew about Verity.

He won't tell me and I won't tell him I know, Angelina thought.

"You've been avoiding me," she accused with a smile. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I've been a bit busy with the shop," he replied, meeting her eyes briefly.

"You can't be that busy. I see Fred quite often and he claims he's working a lot harder than you are. He's not lying, is he? He's not leaving you and Verity to do everything?"

"No, it's nothing like that—"

"Then you are avoiding me."

"No—"

"Then you won't mind coming over for dinner tomorrow night."

"Angelina…"

She could tell he wanted to say yes, but wouldn't give in. His allegiance was to his brother. It was better now to think of Angelina like a character in a story. She'd get hurt and she'd move on and one day it would all be better. All the real emotion would be reserved for Fred. It was something Angelina could understand, even admire. It was the nature of families to band together and exclude others, even when they were the victims. However, that didn't quell her anger and she wasn't about to let it.

There was only one option.

What was it Mama always said? _You have to get the pitch and tone perfect. You always have to make sure you speak clearly yet softly or else he might end up in a ditch when you meant to get hitched._ She'd laughed long and hard then quickly turned serious. _Concentrate, girl!_

Angelina smiled at George. "Come to my flat tomorrow at three."

George's face became blank and he stood stock still for a time. "Did you say something?" he asked when he'd come back to himself.

Angelina shook her head, putting on her best façade of confusion. "No, I didn't. You must've heard someone else. Anyway, I'm going to get going. Busy day ahead."

George nodded slowly, furrowing his brows.

**iv.**

Everything was in order by the time George arrived. There were several bottles of Old Ogden's on the lounge table and one in her hand. The red satin slip she wore didn't make her feel beautiful or sexy. The fabric against her skin was too much like a human touch. Her orientation caused her to interpret it as distinctively male. Angelina shuddered, disgusted, as the fabric touched parts of her she wanted no man to ever know again.

A little before three Angelina went to her window. She was just in time to watch George cross the street to her flat. A few minutes later he knocked at the door timidly, curiously.

As she opened the door, Angelina took a long swig from the Ogden's bottle and smiled widely. "Come in." She pulled George into the flat and shut the door quickly. "You're here early. I thought you wouldn't come until later."

"I…" George began, confused. He looked around the room, taking in the liquor bottles, avoiding Angelina's bare skin. "I don't know why I'm here."

"I do." She still held his hand. Angelina pulled him closer, kissing him harshly, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth.

George hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in. He couldn't do otherwise. Not with her so close. The scent of her, the mixture of milk, honey and rose, carried away all coherent thoughts. Her lips were just as sweet. George kissed her back with the same fierceness, lifting the slip from her body. He wanted to touch every part of her, be inside her. He didn't care when she called out his brother's name.

**v.**

It all came to a head on a Friday night after the shop was closed and Verity was getting ready to go home. Before she left, Fred called George into the back room and asked him to wait for him in the lounge upstairs. George looked like he wanted to refuse, but the thin line of his twin's mouth told him he had no choice.

"Anything the matter?" Verity asked, wrapping her scarf around her neck. She sidled close to Fred, placing her arm around his.

Carefully, Fred extracted himself, moving to the other side of the room. "Nothing that concerns you."

"Alright, then," she said cheerfully, ignoring the rejection. "You know you can always come to me if you need to talk." She smiled coyly before disappearing into the front room.

Fred listened to the door open and shut before going to the front to lock up. Verity's perfume still hung in the air. It was flowery and sweet, unlike Angelina's usual scent of sandalwood and lemon. He hated to think of the two women in the same span of time, but it was becoming increasingly difficult these days ever since that night. He hadn't meant to sleep with Verity. It had just happened. George had given him a harsh look hearing that explanation, but it was the only one Fred had.

George had called him an idiot and a fool. His little escapade could cost them dearly if he wasn't careful. One wrong move with Verity and she'd scream sexual harassment or some such nonsense. Who would people believe? The beautiful, seemingly innocent shopgirl or a nouveau-riche troublemaker? He might've been a war hero but he'd learned a long time ago that the public enjoyed tearing down their heroes as much as they did elevating them, perhaps even more.

As if he didn't have enough on his plate worrying about Verity, he now had to worry about George and Angelina. For the last three weeks, Fred had noticed their growing discomfort with each other. They hated being in the same room together and whenever Fred tried to engage one in conversation about the other they'd either shut down or try to change the subject. There was no mistaking the hostile and accusing looks Angelina would shoot George. There was no mistaking his guilty and regretful air. As well as taking to avoiding Angelina, George had taken to avoiding Fred. When they did come face to face, George would look away, wearing that expression that reminded Fred of the time they'd burned half their mother's photos of Gilderoy Lockhart, the look that said he'd gone too far.

Upstairs, George sat in the overstuffed settee, drinking a bottle of butterbeer. He was nervous, that could much could be told from the occasional twitch of his eye.

Fred sat across from his brother with a raised brow. "What's going on with you and Angelina?"

George's head snapped up, his eyes wide. He stared at Fred for a moment before looking down again. He mumbled something and took a sip of butterbeer.

"I hope you're not denying that anything happened. You'd be insulting me if you did."

"We slept together."

A cold silence descended on the lounge. In the kitchen, the faint sound of the Wireless could be heard. Fred's vision blurred and he could only make out the fuzzy shape of his brother. He had to have heard wrong. George and Angelina having sex was something too absurd to even think about. They were his best friends. They wouldn't…

"No." Fred felt his nails digging into his palms. He was unaware that his hands had clenched into fists.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I went over there and she looked so beautiful and I couldn't stop myself."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? You couldn't stop yourself? You make it sound like…" Fear cut at Fred's insides making him unable to finish the sentence. Immediately he began to deny the unformed thought.

"She was drunk. She thought I was you and I felt like I couldn't tell her otherwise."

Fred swore out loud, getting up. He began to pace, a jumble of thoughts pushing against each other in his mind. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he cried. "You felt like you couldn't tell her? Why wouldn't you? It's what any decent person would do."

"She seemed to want to need me. I mean you," George murmured. "It was like she needed you to be there and you weren't."

There was an accusation in George's tone and Fred bristled hearing it. "So you decided to fill in for me. Well thanks, brother. I should give you a medal for such noble behaviour."

"It's not like I don't feel bad enough as is," George shouted, rising.

"So I should spare you? I shouldn't be angry because you feel a bit bad about what you've done."

"I feel more than a bit bad, which is more than I can say for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The hairs of the back of Fred's neck stood up the way they always did when he was finished joking and was ready for a fight. The thought of fighting with his brother had always made him physically ill, but tonight it was a fantasy he wanted to come true.

"It's supposed to mean that after your behaviour I don't see how you can jump on any moral high horse. You fucked Verity while you're practically engaged to Angelina. I didn't see you running to anyone asking for forgiveness."

"Don't compare what I did with what you've done. What you did some people would call rape."

"I know they would," George said softly. "That's the difference between me and you. At least I own up to my crimes."

Fred scoffed. "Anything to make yourself feel better. I can't believe you'd do something like this and try to justify it."

"I'm not trying to justify it. I—"

"Just shut it, George!"

It was all entirely too calm for Fred. He would've rather they screamed, kicked and punched each other than have this semi-cordial conversation. At least, in that scenario emotions would've run high and then they'd spend each other in the tussle. It would be alright after. They'd find a new normal.

Fred felt his bones weaken. He felt tired and drained, frail. There would be no new normal. The future spoke of a forever shaky ground without security and an endless sense of loss.

**vi.**

He came to her in the middle of the night, his fingertips and lips blue from the hours he'd spent walking around in the cold. Angelina invited Fred inside and took him to the fireplace to get warm. Even after a half hour and a few warming charms he was still shaking.

"He told me what happened."

Fred broke in her arms, sobbing and crying, his head resting on her lap. It was her moment of victory. There was small satisfaction in it. Her love and hate held hands, preventing her from getting what she'd truly hoped to. She'd wanted to be cruel. She'd wanted to cackle madly, push him away and take off in a burst of glory, leaving him forever alone. Instead, Angelina continued holding the pieces of him.

**End**.


End file.
